


Redemption

by stagnationpress



Series: Disclosure [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Between Episodes, F/F, I totally added in a day in episode 4, Non-Graphic Violence, bear with me, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagnationpress/pseuds/stagnationpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy never really means to get into trouble, but, somehow, wherever she turned a corner, there it was with a gleam in its eye and a smirk on its lips like an old nemesis with a secret. With her occupation and tendency for sticky situations, she constantly found herself pushing people away. And she did try to stay away from Angie Martinelli. She really did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> This is so long oh my god I am so sorry. Writing Angie was easy, she was only interested in figuring out Peggy, but there was so much to do with Peggy's character beyond her relationship with Angie. I hope this ties up loose ends.

Peggy pulled at the skirt of her maroon dress, frustrated, and stomped briskly down the set of stairs leading to the lobby of the Griffith. The fury that Howard Stark had set ablaze inside her chest pumped itself swiftly through her veins, pulsing and burning until she was sure steam would emerge from her ears. His confession instilled itself in her memory, etching his words into her cognition and infuriating her further still.

“ _You know. We both know.”_

And of course she knew the second she pulled the small vial out of what was supposed to be a blackout device what it had _actually_ been. She trusted Howard; she let herself believe that this was her mission: helping him clear his already so tainted name. She let herself be misled that rescuing this device from the clutches of the SSR would save the entire city of New York, and she thrived on finally being named the heroine, even if it was behind the black curtain. Thinking back on it now, Peggy should have expected as much. She should have seen through Howard’s slippery deception, his helpless pout, and his soothing words of assurance. He had betrayed the trust she instilled in him since they became allies during the war. Even worse, he had betrayed _Steve_. How _dare_ he.

Ignoring the slightly puzzled look that Mrs. Fry settled her with, no doubt from her sudden exit after having just arrived moments before, Peggy pushed hard against the door and nearly lost her footing as she stumbled down to the sidewalk. She took in gulps of air, steading herself while the hot anger still tore its way through her chest. She had not been this incorrigibly passionate about a matter for a long while; in fact, she recalled exactly the last time she had been this overcome. When she had found Steve and Private Lorraine in a rather compromising position, and then had proceeded to take her anger out on poor Steve in the form of a gun while he cowered behind his shield, she felt as she did now. Yes. She could waste a round or two on Howard Stark.

Not that she would ever _actually_ shoot Howard. On purpose.

What she needed was to cool off that hot head of hers and take a nice stroll. But the further Peggy walked, the more her animosity grew and she knew that she would have to find a way to blow off the rising steam that was quickly filling her head and clouding her judgement.

* * *

 

Howard had disappeared by the time she got back to her apartment, but she felt less relieved and more anxious as the weight of the device containing Steve’s blood grew heavier in her purse. She knew it was completely reckless, having it in such an open, vulnerable place, but she could not yet think of a way to hide it where it would be completely safe. Today, however, seemed a day of recklessness when she would look back upon it. The kind of story you would tell your grandchildren as they clutched at the edge of their seats and bit at their nails, hanging over every word.

Peggy never really _means_ to get into trouble, but, somehow, wherever she turned a corner, there it was with a gleam in its eye and a smirk on its lips like an old nemesis with a secret. Granted, in her heart of hearts she knew that she was always itching for a fight, but it was in her blood. Combat was laced, intertwined even, between her veins, crawling through her heart, keeping her alert and focused even when she wished she could be at ease. It was all part of what made her such an excellent soldier, and also what made her practically incapable of anything else.

She was excellent at fooling nearly everyone into thinking she was a civilized, well put-together woman who seemed just as ordinary as any other. Actually assuming the role was something she did not want to venture into. Peggy Carter, as she knew herself, was no ordinary woman. She was strong, independent, hard, and confident in her ability and those traits on a dame in this day and age were frightening to those who held to the traditional way of thought. With her occupation and tendency for sticky situations, though, she constantly found herself pushing people away. One situation in particular had been recently taking its toll on her; it hurt her heart to push, but she knew it was always in their best interest.

She really did try to stay away from Angie Martinelli. She resisted her invitation to be neighbors for as long as she was able before the need for a place to stay became too pressing. Even then, Peggy tried to keep to herself as much as possible, hiding her real self and her real life away from Angie even more so than she did for Colleen. She knew from experience making ties was bound to end in disaster, and she bitterly remembered how Steve and Colleen had suffered on her behalf. Steve’s sacrifice was not so much for her in particular as it was to save millions of others, but she felt responsible for it all the same. It was her duty as a soldier, as the supervisor of Project Rebirth on behalf of the SSR, to keep the subject… to keep _Steve_ safe. She had failed. Colleen’s death fell on her even more directly. She brought the danger into the home of a woman who trusted her, who was her friend, and for that Peggy struggled every minute to forgive herself. She hadn’t yet succeeded. The sting was still as painful as ever.

So when she wandered into the L&L automat and the perky waitress with an infectious smile and laughter in her eyes struck up a casual conversation with her, she tried to think nothing of it. As she became a regular, however, so did their conversations. Being affectionately dubbed “English” by the woman was the tipping point in Peggy’s perspective. Angie was the type to become friends with anyone without any real effort. She was like a soft tide, pulling one in until he realized too late that he is chest deep in warm water and it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. To Peggy, however, friendships at this point were only more opportunities for trouble, and she kept the waitress- _Angie_ \- at arms distance.

Or, at least, as much as she could. Because Peggy liked Angie, and there was something about her that struck a chord deep within her chest. Angie was nothing like Steve. Not really. But she was headstrong, Peggy noted, and had a capacity for compassion that reminded Peggy so dearly of the scared, young man Steve Rogers was when she met him. It was what initially drew her to him. And now, she found herself drawn to Angie in the same manner, and it scared the hell out of her. She began developing such affection for Angie that words such as _darling_ slipped almost constantly, with Peggy powerless to stop herself. The waitress had her wrapped around her pinky within a month flat. But Peggy knew she was treading dangerous waters, and her newfound affections took a backseat to Angie’s safety. Peggy would not- _could not_ \- lose another on her watch.

She had been wanting to make it right for so long- all of her mistakes, her regrets. There, in her purse, was the opportunity. It was a second chance to save Steve, or what was left of him. So she also thought of Angie. If she could keep her safe as well, maybe that heavy weight would lose a little of its tug on her. Maybe she would finally feel as if she had done something worthy of people like Steve and Angie, those one in a millions. Howard had betrayed her, but maybe he had also given her a chance at redemption.

She set her purse atop her dresser and her handgun lay next to it. With a heavy sigh and quick glance at Steve’s picture, perched in the corner of her mirror, she headed off to bed.

* * *

 

Peggy continually asked herself why she continued going to the automat after she became closer with Angie, but she already knew the answer: she wanted to make sure Angie was okay, that she was safe, sure, but Peggy couldn’t deny that she was growing attached not only to Angie but to the familiarity of it all. Her life was one thousand miles per hour, in a constant race against deadlines and missions, and it was such a comfort to know the minute that she stepped into the automat she was no longer Peggy Carter the double agent, but merely _Peggy_. Angie matched her quip for quip, pouring her tea or coffee depending on the hour, but always knowing which Peggy liked and when. She fell into routine with the waitress and she began to feel almost ordinary, but in the best way she knew how to describe it. Angie felt like an old friend from before the war, like Peggy had missed her fiercely and now they had finally reunited after so many years.

But the further she fell into step with Angie, the more Peggy felt like she had to pull back. She was friendly still, but with the added risk of them being neighbors, Peggy was forced to be even more discreet about her work. She could tell Angie was growing frustrated with her brush-offs and excuses. She could see that Angie suspected or possibly even knew more than she let on, and this made Peggy even more frantic about keeping her distance. Angie persisted still. Peggy found it absolutely endearing that the waitress saw something in her worth digging into, and she did adore their friendship. She had even shared the guilt of Krzeminski’s death with Angie, for she was the only one Peggy knew that could comfort her without pushing questions. From Peggy’s experience, it was a rarity.

Still, there she was, waltzing into the small automat like she wasn’t who she actually was. Like she didn’t carry a road sign that said _DANGER_ in blinking neon over her head. Peggy was a tough woman, but for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to stay away from the only thing that brought her comfort.

She slipped into the fourth booth from the door, the one she always chose out of habit. Some days she would mix things up and grab a seat at the counter, but mostly she enjoyed the subtle security of the booths. Angie immediately swooped over with a hot kettle full of tea- Angie somehow knew she liked tea in the mornings; as she poured, she offered a chipper, “mornin’ English.” Peggy fought off the full severity of her smile, but she had to purse her lips to do so. Where they were now was just the perfect balance of friendship and distance, and Peggy wanted desperately to keep it that way.

She pulled the files she received yesterday from her purse; they contained photos of men possibly connected with the giant brute she had fought while on the Heartbreak. Of course, the man was the SSR’s only lead on the trail of Howard Stark. Sure, they had snagged his inventions but it in no way proved his innocence in their minds. But with their only witness and agent Krzeminski’s murders, these men were their only possible ties to further the investigation while Chief Dooley was away seeking information for the Battle of Finau.

They still did not know that Peggy knew who these men were. Peggy had received the files for secretarial purposes, but it was clear to her that these men could possibly give her further information on the true thief, Leet Branis, and she would not pass it up. Going after them under the nose of current stand-in Chief Thompson would be difficult, but Peggy enjoyed a challenge.

Peggy knew, of course, of Agent Sousa’s custody of the homeless man who said he saw a woman and a well-dressed man leaving the area, but she was hardly worried. It wasn’t enough information for an investigation and Sousa and Thompson will have moved on with Dooley’s return. But this meant Peggy had to act fast, for the Chief was due back soon and Thompson would already have agents seeking out the men.

She read over them quickly, looking for clues to their whereabouts. She hadn’t a plan yet, but Peggy almost always preferred to think on her feet.

 _Eugene “Genie”_ _Sciaccia. 208 lbs. 6’3. Known mob leader. Caution level: 8._

_Angelo  Migliore. 197 lbs. 6’0. Connection with mob and Sciaccia. Caution level: 6_

_Antonio Corallo. 164 lbs. 5’8. Unconfirmed hitman. Caution level: 8._

Peggy nearly shrunk back into her seat. These men were serious opponents. Mob leaders. Hitmen. All possibly in connection with Brannis and the nitromene buyers. This would not be an easy confrontation. She sipped at her tea and set it down again. Her English manners still instilled deeply within her, her little finger was curled away from the cup ever so slightly. It was a habit she couldn’t break.

With a sigh, Peggy took her eyes away from the files for a moment to glance around the automat. She caught sight of Angie rattling off a man’s order like it was a line from a script and caught herself smiling. Angie was always so attentive, but was also very subtle about it. However, Peggy was nearly always two steps ahead of her, and she enjoyed the advantage.

Peggy glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly fifteen ‘til eight, and if she wanted to get a head start on her little investigation, she would need to leave now. She stood to gather her papers. Angie returned with the man’s order and briskly headed over to her booth.

“Leavin’ so soon, English? You haven’t even finished your tea,” Peggy turned at Angie’s voice, pointedly taking a final sip of tea. Her dramatic pout almost had Peggy sitting back down in the cushions, but she so badly needed to gain a lead on her case. Instead, she offered Angie what she hoped was an apologetic smile, shoving her files under her arm and shrugging her purse onto her shoulder.

It didn’t take long for Peggy to come up with a white lie, and she in no way took pride in that particular talent.

“I’m afraid duty calls at the office, darling,” damn it, there it slipped again, “Some sort of mishap with the control panel.”

Peggy would have sworn a small shiver racked Angie, but chose to ignore it. As much as she longed to stay and hold one of their witty, friendly, familiar conversations, time ticked away.

“You work too hard,” Angie sighed as she leaned against the table. Peggy chuckled despite herself. Angie really had a way of knowing her without really knowing her.

She noticed the man whom Angie had just served was calling over to the waitress, and Peggy felt a certain pang of guilt. She had noticed recently that the comfort of their friendship was not exclusively Peggy’s. Angie, too, had a rough way of things and Peggy realized she was her comfort in return. It was a two-way street that made everything even more risky and even more precious in Peggy’s eyes

“Don’t we all?” Peggy nodded her head towards the man with a knowing grin.

“You can say that again, I got an audition today, too, right after I clock out. Over on 11th,” Angie pushed herself off of the counter. Peggy knew acting was something dear to Angie’s heart and the notion that she would share her failures and triumphs with her was uplifting. The mutual trust they were building made Peggy feel even guiltier. She smiled anyway, reaching out to give Angie’s arm a soft squeeze.

“Best of luck then,” she said. As an afterthought, she added, “I’ll love to hear about it later.”

Peggy knew that with her current mission, it was a rocky suggestion. But she didn’t regret making it. She decided to confirm it.

“I really must go, though, Angie. Raincheck?”

Angie’s gorgeous, cerulean eyes lit up and Peggy’s heart swelled confusingly.

“Countin’ on it, English.”

Peggy clenched her jaw and willed herself to walk out, pushing against the revolving door and shaking her head. Angie had given her something over the past couple of months that she had not had since the war: something to fight for. Something to protect. She had thought that Steve’s blood would be her chance to redeem herself, but she had missed the small fact that she already had something worth saving. Something she was trying so hard to push away when she should be preserving it. She loved Steve so fiercely still, but it was okay, she decided, to let someone else see her as he had. Love her as he had. And with the device stowed snuggly within her dresser back at the Griffith, Peggy realized she had found an ulterior motive for completing her mission successfully tonight.

She would give anything to keep that raincheck.

* * *

 

Peggy had always had a keen sense of hearing, but during the war it developed dramatically. She could tune out other noises and focus on one, and it came in handy more often than she thought it would.

The benefits of being overlooked as a woman included a desk that was directly beside the briefing room. Though the sounds were a bit muffled, Peggy managed to catch most of the conversation between Thompson and two minor agents, presumably over the men she was after.

Her research before her workday started proved fruitless, much to her dismay. She did, however, manage to scrape up the fact that Sciaccia was a leader of a smaller unit of mobsters; they were the kind who dealt specifically with black market items and weaponry. This meant only that the men would more than likely be packing by the time they were confronted, and were probably already aware that one of their goonies was taken out.

Peggy leaned slightly closer over the edge of her desk to listen.

“The guy we brought in was useless. He didn’t know a damn thing about Sciaccia or the unit. Probably a fresh face on the block. I say we go after Sciaccia directly. We already confirmed he and his goons hang out around 9th street,” Peggy recognized the man’s voice as Agent Archer, no doubt the senior agent on the investigation given the information he had rattled. But it was the street that struck Peggy. 9th street. It wasn’t far from 11th, where Angie said she had an audition later tonight. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“We can’t just march in, guns blazing, on a mob unit. Besides, these guys are loose connections. The Chief’s across the bay diggin’ into the real evidence. I think these guys are going to be more trouble than they’re worth,” this time, it was Agent Thompson who was speaking.

“So you think it’s a dead end?” Peggy did not recognize the third voice.

“I say we freeze their files, and open them back up if we need to. But the Chief should be back tomorrow with a bigger lead than what this can give us. Bigger fish, men. Sometimes you gotta lose some to win some,” Thompson said authoritatively. Peggy heard the other two agents murmur in agreement.

Though Peggy understood where Agent Thompson stood, she had learned from the war that it was better to leave no stone unturned. Sciaccia was a mobster, and mobsters always knew more about a man than he knew about himself. They always knew who they were dealing with. She had the inkling that Sciaccia would know who put up the nitromene, and that could lead her to the ones behind all of this, as Brannis had told her: Leviathan.

But now the mission had a personal touch to it. 11th street was not too near 9th, but it was not far enough for Peggy. She needed to keep Angie safe and waltzing in and demanding direct answers would no doubt end in a fight. She had to find a way to get information without force. She would need to confront the mobster inconspicuously.

* * *

 

Peggy could admit it was a slightly stupid plan later, given it was the only one she had.

The mob unit’s hangout turned out to be a secret underground speakeasy, no doubt erected during the prohibition. It was the kind filled with smoke and shrill, swinging jazz. It wasn’t hard to flirt her way inside; the bouncer seemed to have a thing for brunettes. She was dressed rather business-like in a soft white blouse, a navy blazer, and a navy pencil skirt. She held a designer leather briefcase in her grip, her knuckles turning white. This was completely reckless, but it was indeed her only option.

Sciaccia wasn’t hard to find; he was amidst a group of girls dressed rather provocatively with glitter in their hair and girlish laughs. A cigar tilted between his fingertips while he chuckled heartily. A man sat beside him in the round booth, and Peggy immediately recognized him as Angelo Migliore from the file. He was a sickly looking man with a bony structure; his eyes darted over every corner of the room nervously as if he were expecting someone. Then, as Peggy approached the pair, his eyes landed on her. He turned to whisper something into Sciaccia’s ear, and the man’s laughter died slowly in his throat as he fixed Peggy with a calm, amused expression.

“My my,” Sciaccia sat up in the booth, pushing himself to the edge of his seat. “And who do you belong to, sweetheart?”

Peggy resisted an eye roll and offered a sweet smile instead.

“I’m here on behalf of Mr. Vincent Vallario, a friend of Spider Raymond,” Peggy offered. Vincent Vallario didn’t exist, and Peggy knew that if she played this right, that little tidbit could be easily overlooked.

Sciaccia grunted.

“And what does this ah- Vallario - want?” his tone changed from amused to interested. Peggy knew she had his attention when she lifted the suitcase onto the table.

“Recompense.”

Sciaccia stiffened for a moment, and then leant back in his seat. He waved his hands dismissively.

“Leave us, girls.” The women shuffled out of the booth. Sciaccia’s gaze on Peggy never faltered. Migliore remained in his seat. She held her ground. If they began to doubt her now there would be no way to continue. She needed to remain confident, unwavering. The mobster rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and when he spoke he had a business-like air to his voice.

“My boys had nothing to do with Spider Raymond’s death. That was a third party,” he said confidently. Peggy let out a breath.

“Mr. Vallario is fully aware of your involvement with the product, Mr. Sciaccia,” Peggy held his stare.

“ _Is he_?” a wolfish grin spread across the man’s face. “Then what on earth are you doing here, darling?”

“He knows that you had men guarding the safe place where the product was being held,” Peggy continued. “Obviously, you were on the seller’s side. He hired you to keep guard. Brannis, I believe his name was?”

The grin immediately wiped off of Sciaccia’s sharp features. His jaw clenched nervously.

“What is Mr. Vallario suggesting?”

Peggy steeled herself.

“It wouldn’t be out of left field for the rumor to surface that you acquired the money Raymond gave and then had one of your men- perhaps Antonio Corallo-”

Migliore stood suddenly, his face red with anger.

“What you are hinting at is blackmail, ma’am, and I assure you our division will not have its reputation sodded by a rumor. One of our guys was killed for that Brannis bastard, and you come in here accusing-”

Sciaccia held up a hand to silence him. Migliore sent him a bewildered look, but slunk back into his seat. It was apparent they did not know that Leet Brannis was dead.

“What does this _recompense_ entail, miss?” his voice was surprisingly calm. Peggy began to suspect this man knew more than he let on. He did not seem very angered by her accusation. She began to perspire slightly.

“Mr. Vallario wants information,” her fingers clicked at the briefcase, and Sciaccia’s eyes flicked down to it, then back up to hers. “Leviathan.”

A thick, mussed eyebrow arched.

“Is that English?”

Peggy inwardly groaned.

“What did you know about Leet Brannis, Mr. Sciaccia?” she pressed.

“He told me he worked alone. Said he was an independent businessman, but that’s as much as I knew. Angelo here does the digging for us, and from the best he could scrounge up, this guy was clean.” Peggy spared a glance over at the other man, and immediately he dropped her gaze. She glanced back at the mobster. Apparently, Agent Thompson had been right. She had underestimated Leet Brannis. Apparently he was more resourceful than she knew. Peggy sighed.

“I suppose we are finished here, then, Mr. Sciaccia. I will be back if any further need from Mr. Vallario arises. Enjoy your evening,” Sciaccia lifted his fingers in a respective gesture of goodbye, and Peggy grabbed the suitcase from the table. The man nodded his chin towards it.

“What was that for, sugar?”

Peggy smirked knowingly. _Defense._

“Intimidation is key, Mr. Sciaccia.”

She caught the man’s amused gaze before she turned to leave.

* * *

 

She fully expected Migliore to follow her out of the bar, but what she didn’t expect is how much of a fight he would put up. Peggy made sure that she walked at an easy pace, and lead the man trailing her far away from 11th. Far away from Angie.

After some number of blocks, Peggy took a sharp turn down an alleyway. She stopped and waited, fixing her gaze on the street ahead of her.

“So,” Migliore emerged from the corner, slowly advancing on her. “You and this Vallario think they can walk into our side, threaten us, and come out all pristine? You got another thing comin, doll.”

He advanced quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it caught Peggy off guard. Her briefcase was wrenched from her grip and Migliore swiftly landed a blow with it to her thigh. The sudden hit sent Peggy to the concrete, earning brush-burns atop both of her knees, but she regained herself quickly.

She sent an expert kick to the man’s abdomen and he dropped the suitcase to double over. Peggy sprang from the floor just in time for the man to recover. They fought hand to hand, Peggy blocking him jab for jab and getting in a few advantageous blows. The man gained an upper hand when he grabbed her shoulders and brought his knee up to strike at her outer thigh again. It was painful, but Peggy mustered up enough strength to block his second attempt and sent him to the ground with a vicious right hook. The man landed with a thud, but the blow did not seem to be enough to incapacitate him. The alleyway was coated in muddy water, and they were both thick with it. He stood quickly and reached into his pocket to whip out a pocket knife. Peggy had expected this.

The first slice was too quick for her, and she cried out in pain as the small knife ripped through her skirt. The second she managed to dodge by a hair, but the third struck her again. This time it was a deep cut and Peggy fell onto her back once more. She scrambled towards her briefcase as the man advanced, his eyes full of murder. The suitcase seemed so far away and for a moment Peggy felt sure she was going to die.

Of all things, Angie’s cerulean eyes popped into her mind. Peggy remembered her hopeful voice, “ _Countin on it, English,”_ and suddenly dying wasn’t an option. Peggy Carter did not break promises. Especially those made to Angie Martinelli.

Once she finally reached the case, she popped it open and drew the gun within it so fast she thought she might drop it. Migliore halted immediately and lifted his hands.

“Tell your boss that if he has a problem to take it up with Vallario. I’m only the messenger.”

He seemed to ponder this. Finally, he nodded.

“I’ll make sure he does.”

* * *

 

Peggy knew that there was no way to trace her once she got away. Vallario was an imaginary businessman and the brutes didn’t even have the intelligence to ask her for her name. But then again, Peggy was counting on that little slip up.

There was always the chance that there were more of Sciaccia’s men tailing her, however, and Peggy kept a wary eye out on her way home. She paid the cabbie without a word, and snuck back up into the Griffith stealthily. It was rather late, just past nine, and the lobby was deserted save Mrs. Fry, tucked away in her office and completely oblivious to Peggy tiptoeing up the stairs. Her knees burned, her legs ached, and shooting pain went up her back every time she took a step. She could hardly make it up the stairs, but she managed to anyway.

She was careful to avoid bumping into any one of the ladies on her floor as she made her way to her room. When she came to her door, she noticed Angie wasn’t home yet. A surge of panic rose through her chest as her thoughts were plagued with hundreds of scenarios that involved Angie and the mobsters. She tried to calm herself with the knowledge that the mobsters didn’t even know Angie Martinelli existed, much less that she was connected with Peggy.

She entered her apartment and shut the door tight behind her, heading straight for the bathroom. Her hands were filthy with grime. She shed her blazer and ran them under the hot water of the sink before a thump came from the hallway. Peggy turned the water off immediately and shut of the light. The sound of her front door opening set her adrenaline pumping once more, and she whipped open the bathroom door to find none other than Angie waltzing through her door.

Peggy grabbed at her, slapping a hand over her mouth and an arm around her midriff and pulling her back into the bathroom. She shut the door quickly but carefully. Peggy knew she had probably scared the life out of the poor girl, but she needed to take precautions. She had no way of knowing whether there were still some of Sciaccia’s goons following her, and Angie could be in danger now because of her. The only thing to do was to wait.

Angie let out a strangled scream from behind Peggy’s hand. She pulled the waitress closer to her.

“ _Quiet Angie_.” It came out more urgent than she meant it to. Peggy became painfully aware of her wounds the longer she held Angie close. But she also became painfully aware of Angie herself.

The waitress struggled out of her grip, and Peggy was too entirely exhausted in the moment to fight her. The bathroom was dark, but she could just make out Angie’s figure turn towards her.

“Peggy?”

Her voice was so loud in the deafening silence of the bathroom, and another surge of panic rippled through Peggy.

“ _Shush!_ ”

Peggy shuffled over to the door and put her ear to it, listening. She did not know how long they stood there, but Angie did not utter another word. Finally, when she deemed that the opportunity had passed to attack if anyone was following her, Peggy opened the door a little and light flooded into the small bathroom.

Angie let out a small gasp and it took Peggy a moment to realize why. She sighed.

“Have you ever heard of this grand thing called _knocking_?” Peggy’s tone was playful, but tired, and she couldn’t read Angie’s expression.

“Peggy what-”

She was too exhausted to get into it all. She held up a hand and Angie silenced.

“Go back to your apartment, and we’ll talk about this in the morning… granted we aren’t both murdered in our beds.” She knew it was rather insensitive of her to add such a statement, but it fell out of her mouth before she could stop it. The look on Angie’s face made her soften.

“Please, Angie. I’m exhausted. I’m certain I’ll not stand up another minute,” she sighed. Peggy pulled open the door further to add emphasis. Angie still looked unsure, but not about to argue.

“We’re safe, I promise,” Peggy added, “The murder spiel was my bit of humor in light of this horrid night I’ve had.”

And it was true. Her mission had proved useless and she had sustained injuries for what seemed like nothing.

Angie seemed to fight herself, stuttering, “Peg, you can’t just expect me to…”

Peggy interrupted her once more, “Tomorrow. Please.”

Finally, Angie nodded and brushed past her out into the small hallway of Peggy’s apartment. Guilt welled up inside of her. Angie paused on her way to the door to turn back. Peggy offered her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t think for a minute I’ll forget, English.”

Peggy grinned, forgetting herself for a moment and focusing on the woman in front of her.

“Counting on it, darling.”

* * *

 

Given it was a day for recklessness, Peggy was so exhausted last night that she had forgotten to dress up her wounds. She fell asleep in her dirty clothes atop the daybed without a guilty conscience. When she woke, she was terribly sore and thanked god and every saint she knew that it was a Saturday. She regretfully threw out her torn skirt, but set aside her blazer and shirt to be washed. She cleaned the grime off of her black heals and gave them a quick polish so that they shined as if they had just come from the store.

After she dressed, she set about her kitchenette to make her morning tea. On the weekends, she liked to make it for herself rather than head down to the automat. It was a luxury, having a moment to herself, and she took it whenever she could.

As she was pouring a steaming cup, a small knock came from her apartment door. She already knew who it was.

“Come in,” she called loudly. The door creaked as it opened and Peggy stirred sugar into her tea before she faced Angie. They both pulled out chairs from the small table and sat. Peggy didn’t want to bring up last night, but she knew Angie would. She took a sip of her tea and Angie pinned her with her cerulean stare.

“What happened last night?”

It wasn’t an option for Peggy to tell her about her work, but she knew Angie would go down swinging before she walked out without answers. She thought back to their conversation yesterday, and Angie’s blue, blue eyes lighting up when she told Peggy about her audition. This darling, hot-blooded, endearing waitress had a pull on Peggy that she couldn’t describe. She couldn’t bring herself to cause harm even indirectly to her. Angie Martinelli needed protecting at all costs.

“How was your audition?”

Angie seemed startled by her question, but Peggy merely sipped at her tea again. It was a foolish thing to say, she would admit it, but Peggy was known to be a little foolish from time to time.

“What?”

“Your audition?”

“Peggy.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you avoiding my question?” Angie’s head was tilted ever so slightly and the confused expression she wore was sending giddy waves of tenderness through Peggy’s chest. It was so refreshing, how interested Angie was in Peggy. She was so used to being overlooked, pushed aside, and forgotten about she had forgotten how it felt to have someone invest in her. Angie was a gem. The more frustrated Angie grew with the silence, the further Peggy realized how mutual their affection was for one another. Angie cared as much as Peggy did. Angie _felt_ as much as Peggy did.

And with a sudden, rushing realization, Peggy decided she loved her.

“I’m not doing this, Peg. I’m not fresh outta the cradle. I know you say the phone guys are pigheaded jerks but I know they didn’t hack you up like a fresh piece of cow. Now _tell me_ what’s goin’ on.” Angie fumed. Peggy noticed she had stood from the table.

Peggy now found herself questioning everything she had just moments ago been so concrete about. Angie saw her wounds, and she _knew_ Peggy wasn’t telling her the entire truth. Maybe Peggy couldn’t tell her everything, but maybe she could let her know that it was in her best interest. Maybe she could give Angie a little. Peggy looked into her tea, unsure of how to begin.

“Angie… what you have to understand about me is-”

But in a moment, Angie rounded on her again, taking a step towards her, “That’s just it, Peg. You won’t let me understand.”

Peggy stood, too, and advanced on Angie. Every word was a confirmation to Peggy. A seal of approval. Cold, hard proof that Angie _cared_. Her stomach fluttered.

 “You keep yourself so collected and you don’t realize that you push people away. Well I ain’t gonna be pushed anymore, English. I’m just gonna push right back. So if you wanna go on being all _steely_ then maybe you should find somewhere new to get your mornin’ tea.”

Angie finished with a huff, and Peggy moved closer still. She could feel Angie’s angry breath, but all she could do was grin.

“Well…” she searched through the blue eyes for a sign of contempt but all she found was hope. Hope that Peggy would tell her that there was no way in hell she was leaving. “Maybe I don’t go for the tea.”

Angie’s next sentence fell deaf upon Peggy’s ears.

And Peggy kissed her. She kissed her like all of her life she had been careful and for this moment she didn’t want to be. She kissed her like she didn’t care that the world didn’t see her, because Angie did and Angie was somehow enough, just as Steve had been enough. She kissed her like it was finally okay to let herself go because Angie was so _good_ and soft and everything she never thought she needed all wrapped into a beautiful blue eyed girl. For once, Peggy did what she wanted and not what was right. For once, she wasn’t the soldier or the protector. For once, she was just Peggy.

When she pulled away, Angie was gripping Peggy’s shoulders like she would fall to pieces without her. Peggy touched her forehead to the waitress’s for a brief moment before looking back into her eyes, her hands rested firmly on Angie’s hips.

“Geez, Peg. Not that I’m complaining, but what was all that for?”

Not that Peggy was looking for any further confirmation of Angie’s feelings, but this was it. She laughed heartily, genuinely, relieved and happy and exhausted. Angie had a way of pulling that kind of laughter out of her. The kind that had Peggy with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind Angie’s ear.

“Angie, darling. You are the one constant in my life. I go to the automat because it’s familiar and _you_ are familiar and you make my life seem not so… mucked up.”

She could sense Angie wanted to respond, but she wasn’t finished. Angie needed to know that although she could not tell her _who_ she was, she wasn’t going to try to hide _that_ she was.

“Whoever I am outside of this room is not something I need to put onto your shoulders, and it has nothing to do with me disliking your company in anyway. Forgive me.” Peggy finished.

Angie let out a soft sigh, “It’s real sweet of you, Peg, but I don’t need protectin’.”

Peggy knew Angie was strong. She did. But hearing it from her own mouth somehow comforted Peggy. It let her know that Angie wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress, that she could take care of herself. It eased Peggy’s worrying a little.

“By the looks of last night, you’re the one who needs to be taken care of.”

Peggy’s heart swelled. Angie gave her shoulder a little squeeze and she immediately let out a squeak of pain. Angie gave her an apologetic look.

“You need to stitch up those cuts, Peg.”

“I’m quite okay, Angie, really.” She wasn’t. But Peggy wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity.

Angie pointed firmly towards her daybed. “Margaret Carter, you sit down right now. I’m fixing you up.”

It was so strange to Peggy, being stitched up. For as long as she could remember, she had always taken care of herself. She was the one fixing up her wounds, patting herself on the back, making her own way. But as she watched Angie rub the cotton over her cuts, she felt like it was such a wonderful thing, having someone care enough to insist on taking care of you.

They shared a few sentences. Angie inquired who had given her the injuries, but Peggy merely responded with, “Darling, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Angie began to stitch up a particularly deep slice just above her knee, and Peggy barely felt it. She was transfixed on the girl, watching her delicate hands work with a gentle pace. Peggy admired her technique.

“You’re quite good at that,” her voice was softer than she expected.

Angie smiled sheepishly and snipped the edge of the thread.

“I grew up with some rough kids. Came in handy, knowin’ how to fix up a few scrapes here and there.”

Angie placed the materials back into the first-aid kit on the table and didn’t turn to face her again until Peggy had her stockings and heels back on.

“Thank you, Angie.”

“I suppose I ain’t getting’ an explanation any time soon.”

Peggy released the breath she had been holding.

“Angie… if you’re involved, there will be no way to forgive myself if something were to happen to you. I can’t afford…”

Peggy felt guilt crawling its way through her chest again. She had kissed Angie, and now a line had been crossed in their relationship. It was too late to undo, but Peggy didn’t want to. She wanted Angie, and she wanted her safe. She would go through hell to find a way to have both.

Peggy stood to walk over to the table and resume her previous seat in front of her tea.

“I care for you too much. More than I should,” she said.

“Well if that kiss was any consolation, we’re in the same boat, English.”

Peggy chuckled and realized that Angie had, too.

“If I can’t know your _big secret_ can we at least get to know each other a little better? Why don’t we start with that raincheck? Since you were so _eager_ before,” Angie teased.

Peggy wanted nothing more. This was what she was fighting for. A chance for normalcy. A chance to start over. A chance of redemption.

She placed her hand atop Angie’s, “I’d love to. How was your audition, Miss Martinelli?”

Angie shrugged casually. It amazed Peggy how she could switch so easily. How she could have enough compassion and empathy to know that what Peggy needed most was her understanding.

“Could’ve gone better. Miss what’s-her-face, you know, the blonde with the legs, beat me out again. The casting director said I had,” Angie made air-quotes, “ _potential_. What a wise-guy. Total meatball.”

A soft laugh escaped Peggy, “I’m sure your audition was more than satisfactory. What was the part for again?”

“Just this deal about some Joe who was crackin’ down as a double agent…”

All of the color in Peggy’s face that moment drained immediately. Angie looked startled. Oh, no. Peggy quickly averted her gaze. Oh, no no.

“What is it?”

There was a long, agonizing pause. Then a loud, hard slap on the wood of the table. Peggy flinched and a small, rather relieving smile stretched across her lips.

“Oh my _god_.”


End file.
